


tornadoes and earthquakes

by whatsupbitches (Larkin)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Episode Related, Face-Fucking, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rough Sex, Slight Canon Divergence, riding a motorcycle without a helmet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkin/pseuds/whatsupbitches
Summary: Sometimes Dennis gets a certain craving. Not very often. Just sometimes. Like today, for instance, when he looks at Country Mac.





	tornadoes and earthquakes

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the events of "Mac Day" (s9e5). Slight canon divergence: I added a few extra hours to Country Mac's lifespan so he and Dennis could bone. Otherwise canon-compliant.

All day long, Dennis keeps bumping up against Country Mac. Sliding against him, skin against skin. It was an accident at first, and then it wasn’t. Again and again, their bare arms touch each other; Country Mac’s are warm, hard with muscle, and when he lifts them Dennis glimpses soft-looking tufts of underarm hair. It glistens, just a bit, with fresh sweat. Dennis can smell it. In the planetarium seat Dennis doubles over, under the pretext of laughing, to dip his face closer to the scent.

Two seats away, Mac is saying something about tornadoes and earthquakes _._ Mac is saying _uh, hello, God’s gift to the gays!_ Again with this shit. Five goddamn hours this morning. _Filth and sin and sodomy…_ Mac’s dick, bulging hard in his pants. Dennis could see it. Everyone could see it. Everyone knows. _Filthy queers_ said Mac this morning. _Filthy promiscuous queers will burn for all eternity in_

Country Mac passes the joint to Dennis. Their fingers touch. The tip of the joint is wet from Country Mac’s mouth. Dennis brings it to his lips and sucks and laughs, laughs, laughs. 

*

“Where’s City Mac?” says Country Mac. Country Mac is sitting on the barstool next to Dennis, his legs spread open wide.

“I think he went home,” says Charlie.

“Yeah, to sulk,” says Dee. “Probably crying his eyes out like a little sad crying girl.”

“Dang, I feel for the dude,” says Country Mac. “Never meant to hurt his feelings.”

“He’ll get over it,” says Charlie.

Country Mac stretches, his arms flexing, his shirt rucking up just a little. Ripped abs. Works out his core, probably. Country Mac catches Dennis staring and Dennis downs his drink.

“Dee, beer me,” says Dennis.

“Beer yourself, asshole,” says Dee.

Country Mac’s fingertips are touching Dennis’s waist and Dennis feels light, pretty, open. Available. 

“Let me,” says Country Mac.

Country Mac opens the beer bottle with his teeth, spits the cap into the air and catches it one-handed. He passes the bottle to Dennis. Cold glass; warm fingers. Dennis is still a little stoned, probably. Dennis is drunk, definitely.

“Dude,” Charlie is saying. “That is sweet as _shit_. Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Don’t,” Dee warns Country Mac. “Charlie’s teeth are always falling out. For like no reason.”

“That is true,” Frank confirms. “He broke a tooth last week on a spoonful of shampoo.”

“What?” Dee yelps. “Charlie, why in God’s name were you eating—”

Dennis shifts on the stool. His knees touch Country Mac’s knees. Country Mac’s eyes flicker over to Dennis and Dennis feels shiny like a prize. 

Dennis doesn’t get like this often. It’s a mood that seizes him every now and then when he’s a certain kind of drunk, and usually he gets it out of his system pretty quick. A few minutes on his knees is all it takes. In college, at frat parties, he could scan the room for a certain type of guy, boyish and pliable, gay enough to go along with it but closeted enough not to talk about it after. These days, he can just slip out to the Rainbow. A few songs’ worth of grinding and tonguing on the dance floor; a few minutes on his knees in the bathroom. Once a year, maybe. It’s hard to keep track when you don’t record it. Or remember it, even, when he’s _that_ kind of drunk.

“What do you think, Dennis?” says Country Mac. “Is City Mac gonna be okay?”

Dennis’s mouth is dry. He licks his lips and says, “Want to come home with me and check on him?”

*

Dennis has never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before. Keeping an inch of space between his body and Country Mac’s, he places his hands lightly on the seat, tries to figure out what to do with his legs.

Country Mac laughs. “No way, José,” says Country Mac. “You ride behind me, you gotta touch me.” He grabs Dennis’s hands, pulls him forward. “Put your hands on my hips. Squeeze me with your knees. When I lean, you lean. Got it?”

They set off into the night and it’s like doing crack, the sudden screaming rush of it. Philadelphia flashes past them, its lights streaking with speed. The wind grabs Dennis’s hair, smacks him in the mouth, makes his eyes water. No helmets. If he lets go of Country Mac’s waist for even a second, Dennis will go flying through the air, smash his head open and die. The thought thrills him; that’s the kind of mood he’s in tonight. He digs his nails into the leather of Country Mac’s jacket and closes his eyes. Zoom. If they crash, they crash.

*

The apartment is dark and Mac’s bedroom door is closed. Good. Dennis doesn’t even bother turning on the lights. Right there in the living room, he tugs on Country Mac’s shirt, touches Country Mac’s bare arms, kisses him.

Country Mac kisses back. Country Mac kisses just as you’d expect him to, with rough stubble and smoky boozy breath and a slutty little lick of the tongue. Country Mac kisses affably, almost absentmindedly, like he’s happy to do this for Dennis but doesn’t _need_ it. Not the way Dennis needs it. Dennis doesn’t like being the only one who needs it.

Dennis puts his mouth against Country Mac’s ear and says, “Tell me what you like.” He flicks his tongue into Country Mac’s ear. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Country Mac smiles, heavy-lidded and serene. “Take it easy, city boy,” he says. “I want to make _you_ feel good, too.”

Country Mac is too calm, too agreeable. Dennis thinks of Mac behind the door, Mac drama-queening the night away in his sad spartan bedroom, Mac who’s probably jacking off and crying into his pillow as he listens in on the two of them in the living room. Mac’s dick, bulging hard in his pants. Five goddamn hours.

Dennis grinds his crotch against Country Mac’s. “Want to get your dick sucked?” Dennis murmurs. “Let me suck you off, baby.”

Country Mac gives Dennis a look that Dennis can’t quite interpret but doesn’t like because it’s not needy enough.

“I had the wrong idea about you,” says Country Mac. “Didn’t know you were gay.”

“I’m not gay,” says Dennis automatically.

Which is an absurd thing for him to say under the circumstances, even though it’s true, and he tenses for Country Mac’s derisive laughter, coils to slap him in the mouth for it.

But Country Mac doesn’t even blink. “Sorry, man,” says Country Mac. “My bad. I didn’t know you were bi.”

“I’m—” says Dennis.

It happens so rarely. He usually gets it out of his system so quick. A line of coke and a throat full of frat boy cock; a pill dissolving on his tongue and the bathroom floor at the Rainbow. A few minutes on his knees is all it takes.

Tornadoes and earthquakes and filth.

Dennis drops to his knees and says, “Fuck my face.”

* 

Dennis’s mascara is running. His jaw is starting to ache. Country Mac’s dick is big, much bigger than his own, and this will probably bother Dennis later when he thinks about it. But when Dennis gets like this, nothing bothers him. His knees grind into the carpet. Drool slicks his chin. Country Mac grabs a fistful of Dennis’s hair and tugs gently, too gently, as he thrusts in and out of Dennis’s wet mouth. Suck suck gag suck gag suck suck.

Country Mac pulls out and Dennis croaks, “Come on my face.”

Dennis closes his eyes and gropes blindly, clumsily at the cock in front of him, bracing himself for the splash of warm fluid, picturing himself covered in it. Slutty. Messy. Shiny like a prize.

But Country Mac kneels down, cups Dennis’s chin in his hand. “Can you look at me, big guy?”

 _Big guy_. Jesus. Dennis almost laughs. But when he opens his eyes Country Mac really doesn’t look like Mac at all.

“I want to fuck you,” says Country Mac.

Dennis hesitates.

“Is that cool?” says Country Mac. “We don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable…”

Dennis bristles.

“You shut your goddamn mouth,” says Dennis. “I’ll get the lube.”

*

They do it on Dennis’s bed, Dennis on all fours, facing the camera for once. He stares straight into the lens, though he’ll probably delete the tape without watching it. Before Mac can find it. Although just imagine that scene. Dennis wonders if his face will look fat from this angle. He wishes he had a mirror on that side of the room.

“You’re so tight,” Country Mac grunts, thrusting slowly; he’s still not all the way in.

“It’s not my first time, if that’s what you’re implying,” Dennis snaps.

Country Mac reaches forward, strokes Dennis’s cheek. “Relax.”

Dennis winces. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just uncomfortable. Okay, it does hurt. Fuck.

“You can be rougher with me,” says Dennis. “I can take it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” says Country Mac.

“I don’t care. Hit me or something.” Dennis hisses as Country Mac pushes in a little deeper. “Pull my hair and shit. Fuck me up, okay?”

Country Mac, good in bed as he is at all things, obliges. He makes a fist in Dennis’s hair and pulls, hard. He wraps a hard muscular arm around Dennis’s chest and holds him in place, tightening his grip until Dennis can hardly breathe. He bites Dennis’s shoulder, first teasingly, and then so sharply that Dennis squeaks. 

Then Country Mac’s cock is all the way inside him.

“Shit, you’re kinky,” says Country Mac, who doesn’t even sound winded as he jackhammers Dennis from behind. “Kinky and bi. Sweet combo, man.”

Dennis moans. Loud enough for Mac to hear? He moans again, louder.

“Yeah, that’s me,” says Dennis, who _is_ winded. “Kinky…bi…slut.”

“You like this, slut?”

“Yeah, I like to take it in the ass,” says Dennis; he’d be shouting it if he could just catch his breath. “I like to suck cock. I like cum on my face. I like it all, ’cause I’m a…filthy…fucking…”

“Slut?”

 _Queer_ , Dennis was going to say, but Country Mac is reaching around and wrapping a warm hand around Dennis’s dick. Country Mac is fucking him and fucking him and jacking him off and Dennis comes like an earthquake.

*

Afterward, Country Mac lights up another joint, but Dennis doesn’t want to get high again. He doesn’t want to do anything, really, except drink alone and maybe shower. He’s slimy with sweat and cum and lube; he doesn’t need a mirror to know that his hair is a mess, that his mascara is clumped and smeared. He feels gross. Whatever came over him tonight, he’s gotten it out of his system.

“It’s getting late,” says Dennis. “You probably want to go home, huh?”

“I’m sleeping on the couch in the living room tonight,” says Country Mac. “Remember?”

Shit. Dennis forgot.

“Your bed is comfy as shit, though,” Country Mac adds.

What a passive-aggressive way of asking to spend the night with Dennis. It irritates him.

“The couch is comfy too,” says Dennis. “It’s from Pottery Barn. You’re gonna like it.”

Country Mac gets the hint. On his way out of the bedroom, he gives Dennis a sideways, half-lidded look.

“You know,” says Country Mac, “City Mac talks about you all the time.”

“Oh yeah?” says Dennis. He sits up in bed, suddenly interested. “What did he tell you?” 

Country Mac takes a hit on the joint, blows smoke into the air. “The truth, mostly,” he says, and closes the door.

*

At Country Mac’s funeral, Mac says, “Country Mac lived a reckless life.”

Dennis stares at the wall.

Mac says, “It turns out he was totally queer. Which, as we all know, is a sin.”

Dennis stares at the floor.

Mac says, “He will burn for all eternity.”

Dennis stares right through Mac. Mac doesn’t notice.

“So I will ask for a moment of silence,” says Mac, “in which I will beg God’s forgiveness for Country Mac’s evil, homo ways.”

Dennis feels like everyone is staring at him. Of course, he almost always feels like everyone is staring at him. Just in case, though, when Mac is distracted, Dennis leans over to the others and whispers. Tells them what they expect to hear from him.

“Well, guys,” he says, “I think the real lesson here is that there’s nothing badass about riding a motorcycle without a helmet.”

The truth, mostly.


End file.
